The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(51)
Meagan drew a breath and turned around. Alexander was glaring at her, his color high, his blue eyes livid. At any moment he’d lash out at her, giving her a lecture on the dignity of her position, instructing her that a Grand Duchess of Nvengaria did not pour wine into her husband’s lap. Especially not in front of servants who would spread the story far and wide.
His dark blue trousers bore a wet patch from his knee to the join of his legs, and the cloth dangling from his hand was stained a dull red that nearly matched the redness of his face. Alexander’s sash of office had twisted from his footmen’s exuberance and his medals hung askew.
Meagan pressed her hand to her mouth, barely containing her laughter. “Oh, Alexander,” she gasped. “You look so funny.”
Alexander threw the cloth down and came at her. His look was fierce, mouth drawn down, and at the last moment, Meagan decided her best course of action was to flee.
Too late. Alexander’s strong hands closed over her arms, and he hauled her back to him. She landed against his chest, his impossibly tall body arching her backward, and then he dragged her mouth to his for a savage kiss.
* * *
Alexander put all his strength into the kiss, tasting her laughter and the heady, buttery flavor of the sauces she’d supped upon. It was a raw and possessive kiss, meant to tell her who was Grand Duke around this house.
The love spell had swamped him the moment Meagan had turned to him, her face pink with anger, her starry eyes surpassing the jewels in her tiara. When she’d dissolved into helpless laughter, pressing a hand over her mouth, Alexander knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
Under him, Meagan’s mouth became pliant, softening to him. She was learning to kiss well, to taste him without shame. Alexander moved his lips to her neck, loving the scent of her.
His very elegant first wife would never have dreamed of pouring a goblet of wine into Alexander’s lap, let alone laughing at him when he tried to mop up. Sephronia had always been conscious of her poise, calculating every word before she spoke and every action before she performed it. Meagan’s spontaneity was refreshing.
“You soothe me,” Alexander murmured.
“Then how can you think I would betray you?” Meagan pulled away from him and gave him a disappointed look, her lips forming a near pout. “I would never take a lover, never. How could you think that of me?”
Alexander smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “Because when the love spell is broken, you will not want to be married to me. Perhaps you will feel cheated and angry.”
He knew the truth of this. The day Meagan realized she was trapped in a marriage she did not want, she would look about for a handsome gentleman to whom she could pour out her troubles. That was the way of marriages of convenience.
Alexander hoped the love spell would be dust by then because the thought of Meagan crying on another man’s shoulder, possibly in his bed, rampaged jealousy through him. He wanted to set guards around her and say, Mine, and mine alone.
If Meagan spoke the Nvengarian word she had tonight, completely wrong and in that seductive accent of hers, the passionate men of his country would fall at her feet, literally. Duels would be fought over her. Meagan would soon recognize her power, and she’d learn to use it.
He would not blame her. The stupid English treated her like a nonentity. She would at first be surprised at the attention she commanded and then grow to like it. She needed to learn that her power could easily be turned against her, that discretion would be her only defense.
Alexander kissed the tips of her fingers. “I know you do not wish to speak of it, but you must promise me that you will be open about the gentlemen who court you. If one of them tries to create difficulties, I must know immediately. It will halt problems that could become disasters.”
Meagan met his gaze, but the look in her eyes was far from compliant. “Even if I hated you, Alexander, I would not break my vows. This is my honor you are speaking of. Perhaps things are different in Nvengaria, but in England, our word, once given, means something to us.”
Alexander thought of the dozens of Englishmen he’d met who spoke of honor in one breath and broke their words in the next. Certain things seemed to be sacrosanct, such as paying a gambling debt to one’s fellows even if it meant the family went hungry, or never touching a young, unmarried miss, although a gentleman could tumble her married sisters to his heart’s content. Married women took lovers, but they’d never dare admit it in public, yet a man could speak frankly about visiting his mistress and not be considered odd. Nvengarians were much more open and honest about their affairs.
“I admit English customs confuse me,” Alexander said. “As closely as I have studied them, the nuances are strange. For instance, the Duchess of Gower has two gentlemen lovers who service her at the same time. No one is shocked as long as it is not talked about.”
Meagan’s mouth formed a pink “o.” “Two? Oh, my, I wager my stepmother did not know that.” Her eyes took on the feral gleam of a woman who’d learned gossip another woman hadn’t. “Goodness. I wonder what on earth they do.”
The love spell chose that moment to slam him into another vision. The dining room and the odors of fish and soup dissolved to replaced by that of warm candles and lovemaking. Alexander was on his knees on a bed with Meagan wrapped around him, her skin hot to the touch. He was inside her, rocking her back and forth on his hips, his greedy cock deep inside her.